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Leone’s expression is unfazed, as if we’re discussing nothing more than the weather. “A mother isn’t needed to raise a child,” he states flatly, his dark eyes void of empathy. “I have plenty of people here who will help with that.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter with a shake of my head. I know all too well that mothers are overrated. Mine ditched me, yet the thought of doing that to my own child I could never.
And just like that, he releases me, stepping back as if to admire his work—a caged animal put firmly back in her place. “Excuse me?” he asks.
“Nothing, let’s just get this over with.” I try to step past him, but he grips my elbow, pulling me back in front of him, his grip on my arm bruising.
I can see he wants to demand I explain what I said, but then changes his mind, giving me rules. “You will follow. Be seen, not heard, unless it’s Sienna, who you will apologize to for being rude and leaving her like that. You are to remain at my side and do as you’re told.”
I nod, the fight draining out of me as I stare vacantly ahead, the taste of bile rising in my throat.
“Do you want your father to suffer tonight? I can send Milo for him?... No, then play my wife and play her well. Understand?” His grip tightens so tight I almost hiss out in pain.
“I-I understand,” I stutter, and he releases me with a slight push that makes me stumble as I pass him. Righting myself, I force a plastic smile back on my face to rejoin the party, never wanting to be more drunk in my life.
He smirks as if amused at how easily he can control me. “Good. Now Mrs. Pressutti. Come. Our guests await.”
I follow him, each step measured, my head held high. Inside, I’m screaming, clawing for a way out. But on the outside, I am the picture of composure—the perfect mafia bride.
We return to the vultures disguised as guests, circling, watching with keen eyes for any sign of weakness. I trail behind Leone, a ghost of a smile painted on my lips.
“Smile, Fallon,” he whispers, a devil’s caress against my earlobe, his breath hot on my skin. “It’s almost over.”
My place... A doll in his twisted collection, an ornament to his dark empire. I can feel their eyes on us, assessing, calculating. Each look is a weight, each whispers a chain, and I am tethered to this man—this monster—who holds my fate in his cruel hands.
As the night finally starts to end and people begin to leave, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I can at least get out of this dress. Leone and Milo talk to a few stragglers when the air shifts around us. I feel it in Leone’s sudden rigid posture, the way his muscles coil taut underneath my hand. I glance up at him, trying to read his dark eyes, but they’re fixed ahead, hard and cold.
“Leone?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the murmur of conversation that fills the area as men laugh and talk.
“Shut up,” he hisses, not looking at me, his attention on an approaching figure.
Milo steps closer to his side, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the same target. “What is he doing here?” Leone’s voice is a low growl laced with a danger that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Fuck… I have no idea.” Milo’s hand moves to the inside of his jacket, a subtle hint of the weapon hidden beneath.
“Leave it,” Leone all but growls at Milo before my hand on his arm is suddenly engulfed by Leone’s huge one. He squeezes my fingers in warning. “You keep your mouth shut, not one fucking word,” he snarls.
Before I can respond, the man strides into view—his presence demanding attention. Confidence rolls off him in waves, his smirk as dangerous as it is disarming. Yet his uncanny resemblance to Leone makes me glance between them, same color hair, and facial features, though this man has meaner, sharper features. He stops before us, his gaze sweeping over me with an audacity that makes my skin crawl.
“Where was my invite? Thought you’d get married without me knowing?” the man says, looking me up and down with an appraising glance.
“This was a private ceremony, the sort where you try to keep the trash out.” Leone spits back, startling me.
Leone’s arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer, a possessive gesture that has me fighting the urge to recoil. His grip is painfully tight, the heat from his body suffocating.
“I’m sure Don Vittorio will love hearing he is trash, and no longer family.” The man states, his glare cutting.
Leone’s voice slices through the tension like a blade, his fury palpable. “You are not my keeper, get the fuck off my property.” His dark eyes are storm clouds ready to burst. Undeterred by Leone’s threat, the intruder lets his gaze rake over me in a way that has my skin crawling.
“How much did he pay you to marry him?” he asks, bluntly, turning to face me.
“Excuse me,” I interject, my voice trembling with barely suppressed anger. “I need to say goodbye to Dad.” It’s a lie, a desperate ploy to escape the suffocating atmosphere. My father left hours ago, but it works. Leone gives a curt nod, and Milo steps up beside me to follow.
As we walk away, I glance back at the man who dared to challenge Leone so openly. “Who is he?” I ask Milo, unable to keep the curiosity from my tone.
“Leone’s brother,” Milo answers tersely, his jaw clenched as if the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth as he leads me back to the mansion’s foyer.
Milo’s gaze flicks to the side. “I take it, Leone doesn’t like his brother?” My voice barely rises above a whisper as we return through the heavy doors.
